God

Worthy.
Are we worthy? Are you?
I am not worthy to receive you.
I am not worthy.

These are not the words
of any wizard, of any wonder,
of any wonderful god.

Wonderful does not whip us with worthless.
Wonderful does not teach worthless words.

Worthy.
I am not worthy…
These are the words of men
dressed in robes; black threads
woven over winged capes (not that dark knight bearing light)
not dressed as plain men,
preachers married to invisible faiths,
not married to people,
not knowing true love
or what remains after its loss.

Worthy.
Are we worthy, Are you?
Lord, they are not worthy
to speak for me, not in my name
and not, either, in yours.

Worthy.
Were they not worthy,
those wards your black winged women
washed away in the water?
Where is the worth in the world?
I thought laundries
were meant to clean clothes
not suffocate babies in sewers
beneath the shadows.
Was it worth it?
All that worry washed away with the waste.

Worthy?
Lord, here is my worth.
I place it, next to their judgement,
by your feet
and you can decide what has worth
and whose words are worthless
as I reteach myself the value of that single word
in this complicated world,
as I build my own words to be a witness
to losing the less and seeing the more,
I will be my own critic
keeping the Christian and shaking the ‘anity’
that lingers too close to insanity.

Worthy.
I hear only the devil in my head
whispering of worthless.
Surely the right man should be brighter,
lighter?

Worthy.
Here is my worth…

thread carefully upon it,
not like the prints the pious
already pressed into it
from their proud position
behind the pulpit.

I live in the wild world, not privy to any protection.

Worthy.
Are they worthy to receive me?
I profess this belief, to you.
Alone.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

26th poem for National Poetry Writing Month

How did it feel to hang by nails and wait for a death You were born to endure?
Created by The Father as a symbol of His power to save a crumbling humanity,
He gave you life for it to be ripped from your body. No saving grace for you,
no end to the pain, no Lord to help you. The Father, protector, divine Creator,
silently watching as your all too human pain poured from your all too human body.

Did you suffer a lifetime for every second that you remained in that earthly body,
punctured by earthly hands, jeered by earthly voices, cried for by earthly women?
Did Mary know the gift weaned on her bosom would depart this world so heinously?
Did She trust in the promise of heaven, did She believe in the prophecy of angels,
at the end, when your screams shuck the heavens? Did You question His promise
of a seat by His side while the cold nails split you and the steel blade slaughtered you?

A jew hated by jews, a jew betrayed by jews. Did you foresee that day, on that cross,
how the world would shake in your aftermath? He sacrificed you for the salvation
of humanity but ever since that salvation has waged wars in your Father’s name.
He first split the earth from the heavens and then he let man split the earth in two.

Did you die in vain, that day, or did you die to show that the innocent must suffer?
But what is lost most through suffering is innocence; when eyelids are stitched open
so no pain goes unseen, when the voices are raised so we hear the pain in each scream.

Today all the crosses that hang around our necks are adorned with jewels and pearls.
That day, on the cross, as you rose from humanity, did You foresee the war of the world?

All Words and Pictures by Damien B. Donnelly